The Blue Fish I Named After You, Elena
by Icca
Summary: Most offices have potted plants. Tseng's has a fish tank instead, and it inspires much pride in the man. But he is not obsessed with it. Really.


The Blue Fish I Named After You, Elena

For the record, if there even were any records on him, he was not obsessed with his fish tank. He centered the feeding times around his personal work schedule; the hours may have seemed odd, but it was dangerous to even hint that he might come in so early every day for the sake of the tank - very dangerous indeed. It was also dangerous to touch the tank: that had cost a rookie his job once. A pity though, about that unfortunate fall down a flight of stairs. No one had ever pegged the rookie to be the clumsy type.

He had to come in to work early every morning anyway; he did not specifically come in at four am in order to maintain a strict feeding cycle. (He just believed in routine and unusually early starts.) He fed the tank as soon as he came in, thawing frozen chunks of squid and dropping it into the tank then carefully removing any uneaten pieces after fifteen minutes. This was of course easiest to do upon arrival and fit nicely into his schedule when he did it this way. The timing was perfect, too, as waiting fifteen minutes for the squid chunks in the water allowed him to eyedrop brine shrimp into the anemones and brain corals if that particular morning was their morning to eat. He liked having a schedule, and the tank fit in the schedule. He really did not keep such early hours merely for the tank.

He rigorously cleaned red algae from the glass as soon as he saw it, but let the crabs, snails, and shrimp handle the green algae, although sometimes, if they skimped on their tank cleaning he would scrub some green algae off of the glass, but only did this since he switched to salt water. Sand and live rock did not need cleaning the way gravel did in a fresh-water tank. He only used to clean the gravel once a week, but that little bit of extra work on the tank seemed to keep him content with letting some algae grow. Without that weekly activity, he became somewhat restless, although he certainly controlled most of his urges to pull out the rough sponge.

He checked the heater meticulously, and while he had the lights on a timer – it was worth noting that these were special lights meant to simulate sunlight – he did not use the timer, as he could not trust it to turn on at exactly four am every morning and turn off at exactly seven-thirty pm every evening. Perhaps that was a bit obsessive, and even he could admit that, but then, he expected a certain standard of cleanliness and perfection in all aspects of his office.

His hard work on his tank brought him much pride and tended to turn heads. Rufus stared at it every time he came in to speak to the Turk leader, and the other Turks tended to shoot the tank envious glances when they thought he would not notice. He always noticed, though, and he knew his job was working, knew that his care of the tank did not go unappreciated. Sometimes he saw Reno open his mouth to ask about some aspect of the tank, but then Reno would close his mouth and think better of it, perhaps deciding the question was foolish or offensive. That it had such an effect on the likes of Reno always made Tseng's day better.

It was especially fulfilling when he brought someone in into his office for the purpose of questioning. He would sit at his computer and type, leaving the guest to sit in uncomfortable silence with nothing to occupy them but the tank. And the guest in his nervous and restless state would stare at the tank, and eventually they would invariably ask "Don't you have any fish?"

Tseng's response was always the same. "Fish just die. There's no place for them in my tank." For reasons even the Wutaiian did not know, after that his guests became very uncomfortable and tended to share information quite readily.

That tank was certainly his pride and joy, although it was no obsession of his. Not at all. Tseng would be the first to protest that fact, coolly and logically. And he should know best, as it was his tank and his supposed "obsession." He glanced at his watch when it gave a soft ding. Seven-twenty pm. Time to feed the tank again.

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((Author's Note: This was originally written as a response to a challenge for Miss Toad. Decided to upload it here, because I ended up liking it a lot even though it's useless and nothing happens in it. It's not something I'd normally publish here or even write, but like I said, fond of it, so I thought I'd share. Besides, everyone loves psychotic Turks, right? ;) ))


End file.
